


Fire of the Phoenix

by demiclar



Series: Destcember 2020 [30]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Casimir being angsty, Guardian + Ghost bonding time, Light being ineffective, Modeled after "Gensym Scribe", TW- self harm, kinda not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiclar/pseuds/demiclar
Summary: Casmir and his Ghost try to heal old wounds. Some of them are destined to stay forever.
Series: Destcember 2020 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037118





	Fire of the Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you didn't see it in the tags, this is modeled after Gensym Scribe from the lore book The Awoken of the Reef. It's the one about Asher Mir, where he's looking at his vex arm. I really like that piece so I wanted to make something similar. I've probably done something like it before tbh.

Casimir is silent as he stands before the mirror in his ship. It’s fastened to the back of the door within his little bedroom, running most of its length, simple and plain. He looks into the reflection as he studies himself, his eyes drifting over the burn on his neck, then to the one on his shoulder. Even his body doesn’t seem to be healing it anymore. It just rests on his light blue skin deep and yellow and pained. It bleeds lightly from where his armor has rubbed against it in the past day.

With the wound against his right clavicle, he raises his left had to meet it, sets the tip of the blade he holds to the edge of the yellow patch on his skin. As a test, he draws the blade thinly across the wound, wincing against the pain as blood wells along the path of the blade. His Ghost is there a moment later, and the single line of split flesh mends itself, leaving only a thin white line as evidence that it was ever there. The burn below remains, as if it were imprinted into his DNA.

He steadies himself for the second part of their little experiment, his Ghost appearing beside him as he turns the blade to rest the sharp edge against the wound. He lets his shoulders drop before he quickly but carefully slices away the evidence of the burn, as if slicing bruised skin off of a fruit. Blood wells up instantly, and his Ghost discards of the ruined skin on his blade while he watches the blood slip down onto his chest. He feels the heat of it as it descends towards his pectoral, hot blood met by sizzling solar Light.

His Ghost scans the injury extensively before she heals him, and Casimir knows what he’ll see as she does, instead raising his gaze to his own face as the burn reforms over skin and bone.

“Perhaps if we tried the other burns?” His Ghost suggests, already shifting to get a better look at the other wounds.

He watches her scan the patch of yellow on his neck. Blood has hardened on this one. He raises his right hand to brush against the scab he knows will fall off under his touch, or in the shower or under Drifter’s hands. It crumbles when he runs his nails lightly over it, not even hard enough to scratch his skin, yet the scab disintegrates.

“No.” He answers quietly. “It won’t work.” They both know it won’t. His Ghost believes this is her personal failure. It is the sole reason why she has yet to give up hope on the cause. He knows it could never be her fault. Some things are destined to stick with him for his lifetime. Casimir is only surprised he doesn’t have more wounds.

“I…” His Ghost trails off, her voice almost shaky, unsure at the least. He shifts his gaze to look at her, turning from the mirror as he sets the blade down on the bedside table behind him.

“I spoke with a few Warlocks at the Tower.” She told him, and he put his best effort in to mask his annoyance. It was thinly veiled at best. “A few of them want to study the burns. If you let them, they might be able to find a solution.”

“The Warlocks don’t know anything about this that you or I don’t.” He tells her, turning again to reach for his shirt. “I won’t become an experiment for them.”

He thinks of the thanatonauts with distaste. How different is it for him to be repeatedly wounding himself for the sake of experimentation? How close is he coming to their ways? He doesn’t have the same desire for knowledge that brings them to such extremes. He refuses to sink that low.

He retrieves his shirt and slips into it. When he pulls it over his head, he finds his Ghost hovering directly in front of him, eye level with him and close.

“Please, Casimir.” She tells him, and his gaze hardens while hers softens. “We won’t be able to fix this if we don’t try. If you don’t try. I can’t do this without you.”

He watches her for a long moment, looking into her eye as he feels for her emotions down their bond. His Ghost is hard to read with his eyes, but with his Light, he can feel her desperation, her need for this issue to be solved, for her to no longer have a reason to blame herself. He draws in a deep breath.

“Pick one Warlock.” He tells her. “Tell them I’ll listen to what they propose we do next.”

His Ghost jumps with excitement, and he lowers his head when she drifts close to him, bumping against his forehead affectionately.

“Thank you, Cas.” She tells him, and he smiles just a little, a soft, tired smile, but a smile all the same. “I know things have been hard for us lately, but I chose you for a reason.” She says quietly, and Casimir has to close his eyes. “I believe in you. And no matter how hard it gets, I’ll always be there for you. I promise.”

Casimir gives her shell the softest kiss, but he cannot manage his own words with his choked throat. For her sake and not his own, he prays the Warlock will be able to help.


End file.
